Merry Grissmas
by CSIBritfan
Summary: Christmas in New England beckons for Sara and Grissom. There are some big decisions which need making in the process. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN - After my trip into smutdom, which I enjoyed, I thought a bit of Christmas fluff and angst was in order. I hope you enjoy and reviews are always welcome. Think of it as your present to me this yuletide!_**

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**_Disclaimer - I would like CSI under my tree this year... but I somehow doubt it. Anthony Zuiker and CBS won't give them up for love or money, so they aren't mine._**

**_Spoilers for the whole of series 7 so far._**

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**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter One**

**Nightshift 11th December 2006 **

'FedEx package for a Sara Sidle…'

The motorcycle messenger removed his crash helmet and placed it on the reception desk at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He pulled out a brown padded envelope and readied his clip board for action. He took a chewed up pen from behind his ear and held it on top of the receipt slip, waiting to be signed. He sighed. He had better places to be than in this place.

A blonde, confident woman sashayed from the rooms behind reception. She looked way too sassy to be a science nerd.

'Sara Sidle?' he questioned.

'Nah, she's on a case. Catherine Willows, Acting Nightshift Supervisor. Will I do?'

'Can you sign your name?'

The look she gave him could have shattered the Grand Canyon into road granite chips.

'Look, lady, I don't care who the hell y'are… just sign for delivery then I can get back out on the open highway.'

Catherine snatched the pen from him with the clip board. She took a look at the writing implement and mentally memo-ed herself to wash her hands in alcohol before touching anything or anyone else that night. She scrawled her signature on the dotted line and thrust the board and pen back into the guy's hands. He pushed the package into her mid drift, casually responding with,

'Bye baby doll…. Call me…'

Catherine gave his leather jacketed back a death glare as he departed the foyer.

'Asshole.'

Catherine flipped the envelope over in her hands. Now who would be sending Sara Sidle a personal package? She had a good grope of it, feeling for any clues as to its contents. She gave it a little shake. A little prod. Nothing. Would she have time to steam it open with the kettle before Sara arrived? What was she thinking? She had come to realise there was a line, albeit a very fine line in her case, between investigator and nosey bitch. Still intrigued, she took the envelope into the lab and put it in Sara's pigeon hole, awaiting her return.

Across Las Vegas, Sara was up to her eyeballs in decomp, with a very nauseous looking Greg Sanders. He had had too many bad experiences with body soup and on one occasion it even ended up in his mouth. The memory was making him gag. Sara looked up sympathetically at the young CSI.

'Do you need some air?' she inquired. 'You look a little… green around the gills.'

Gills. Just the word made her think of her man, tucked away in some hotel room, alone, researching on the internet and typing up copious notes for his lectures. She missed him. Gil... Her Gil. She felt her pocket for her mobile phone, her subconscious suggesting it was vibrating. No. She was just wanting it to be. It would be another couple of hours before he finished and was ready to call. He knew not to ring when she was on call and she still had a few hours left on the clock.

The sight of Greg's training shoes disappearing out of view and the sound of him dry heaving brought her back to the scene.

'Tough on the kid, huh?' grizzled Captain Jim Brass, the investigating officer.

Sara was pleased. She liked working with the sarcastic, old, bugger. She was just relieved to be working with him at all after his shooting. The whole episode had unnerved her. What if Grissom and Brass had changed places, and Brass was making life or death decisions about him? Not her. Not his partner. No one knew so no one would ask her. She really wasn't ready to say goodbye to Grissom. Too many wasted years had already cast the shadow of regret on their relationship.

'Yeah, decomp is not his favourite area of the job,' smirked Sara.

'Who knew?' quipped Brass, watching Greg's shoulders heave. 'So then, what's new?'

'Not this guy, that's for sure. Been dead about fourteen days… male, Caucasian…' Sara rose and strode around the mess to join Brass, 'looks like a stab wound… David and Robbins will know more about that… hello? What's this?'

Sara moved round the stationery detective and reached a latex gloved hand under the settee.

'Is this a dagger I see before me?' drawled Brass, as he watched Sara place it in an evidence bag.

'Have you been drinking with Grissom again?' Sara grinned up at the diminutive cop. 'That's way too clever for a man of your limited wit to quote without help.'

'How you wound me!' chuckled Brass. 'How is the old dog anyways? Settled in to a life of students, schooling and snow?'

'Why are you asking me?' Sara batted back without a flicker. 'You saw the post card he sent on the break room notice board. You know as much as I do.'

Sara motioned, pointing at the rotting body on the floor. 'I'm done here. Now, you're the detective, go detect…I need to analyse the bloody dagger at the lab. Tell David I said hi.'

With a wink, she was gone.

'Was it something I said?' said Brass, to the rancid bodily fluids of the John Doe, oozing on the floor.

Around the corner, Sara rubbed Greg's back.

'Better?'

'Urrggghhhhh,' was all the reply he could muster.

'Come on, Chucky, the DNA lab calls.'

As she helped Greg straighten up, she felt her phone vibrate. She turned her back and unclipped it from her pocket. A text message. From Grissom. She flipped the mobile open and read the message.

'_Well?_

_G. xxx'_

'What?!' she verbalised, her brows furrowed in concentration. Grissom was just too cryptic sometimes. 'What does he mean, 'Well?''

'What? Why 'what?'' groaned Greg, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

Forgetting the presence of her audience, she snapped the phone closed.

'Nothing. Let's get back to the lab. I'll drive.'

'When do you ever not?' Greg retorted, striding hard to keep up with her pace.

It was a silent drive back. Sara's head was whizzing with questions. What on earth was Grissom talking about? Too much time on his hands, clearly. Had he texted her and she hadn't received it? The question, 'well?' was so out of left field. Sara swung the crime lab vehicle into the car park. A squeal of tyres warned onlookers of her mood.

'It's been special…' a disgruntled Greg muttered as he got out of the car and stomped up to the lab, his evidence bag swinging in his hand. 'And you stink!' he shouted across the car park.

'Great. How to make a girl feel good. Way to go, Greg!' she yelled back.

The spring loaded door had barely had time to close before Catherine made her way over to Sara.

'Whoa! You stink!'

'Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. It was a bit…ripe.'

'Nice. Sooo glad I didn't go out on that one,' grinned Catherine.

'Is there something you want, Catherine? Only I'd like to take a quick shower before I take the evidence to DNA. I smell like I've rolled on a skunk.'

Sara was becoming impatient. And the smell was giving her a rampant headache.

'Eww, has something died in here?' commented Nick Stokes, the lab's friendly, neighbourhood Texan. He couldn't suppress his chuckle as he walked past a seething Sara.

'Next time, Stokes, I want best of three,' she grumbled, as she trudged off towards the shower room.

Nick and Cath were so busy grinning, she almost forgot about the delivery.

'Hey, Sara! Package came for ya while you were out. I put it in your pigeon hole.'

Sara acknowledged her with a wave as she moved away. She changed direction and headed towards the staff room. She went up to the columns of pigeon holes, each individually labelled with the name of the person it was assigned to printed neatly underneath each one. Her eyes flittered over the empty tray belonging to Gil Grissom. She paused there briefly for a moment before her eyes were drawn to the beige A5 sized envelope in her allotted space.

FedEx? She puzzled. She hadn't made any internet purchases recently, so it was nothing to do with her. It must be some sort of mistake. Inquisitively, she prized the seal open and peered inside. She retrieved a folded handwritten note from the bubble wrap and opened it. A big, warm smile permeated from her lips. It was written in a very well known scrawl.

She checked over her shoulder to make sure she was alone as she read.

'_Hey Sara,_

_Happy Christmas. I know it's not the actual festive season just yet, but I wanted to give you your present a little early. If I remember correctly, which I usually do, you are 20 hours due in lieu. Added to the four days you get off the clock, that gives you six days leave this Christmas, beginning on the 23rd December._

_I've bought you airline tickets – return, of course… first class. Do you want to join me on the East Coast for Christmas? New England is beautiful this time of year. And it's snowing! I have a wonderful open, log fire in my hotel room and a particularly thick rug in front of it… and a jacuzzi bath if you are interested?_

_All you need do is book the extra couple of days out._

_I miss you, and, as that God awful song says, 'All I Want for Christmas is You.'._

_Love, _

_Griss.'_

She needed all of a millisecond to decide. She marched up to the rota board and with a thick, black marker pen, she crossed out the 23rd and 24th of December alongside her name.

Taking out her mobile, Sara returned Grissom's text.

'_New England, here I come! _

_Luv u, _

_S xxx''_

**TBC - PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THEY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN - many thanks for the lovely reviews! I was suprised by how many there were! So thank you, one and all! Here's the next bit. A bit of angst. I've tried to get in Grissom's head... which isn't an easy thing to do! It will either work or not. Let me know.**

**I still don't own these lovely people. Please don't sue. **

**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter Two**

Grissom turned once more to face his students again. He placed his pointer on the desk at the front of the expansive lecture theatre, nestled in the heart of the Brown University buildings.

'Any form of gassing causes severe and debilitating injuries. Take mustard gas for example. It was first used effectively by the German army against Canadian soldiers in 1917 and later also against the French – the name _Yperite_ comes from its use by the German forces near the city of Ypres in the European country of Belgium. Did you also know, that large quantities of it were stored in this country until as late as 2005?'

A murmur of disbelief rode a tidal wave around his captivated audience. He waited for a pause to settle before continuing.

'Mustard gas primarily affects the eyes, skin, and particularly the respiratory tract. In their pure form most sulfur mustard gasses are colourless, odourless, viscous liquids at room temperature. It takes four to ten hours to take effect, but then becomes fatal, causing internal bleeding and lung corrosion. When used as warfare agents it is usually has an odour resembling mustard plants, which is how it got its name. However, these compounds have absolutely no relation whatsoever to the condiment - mustard…. So don't put it on your hot dog at lunch time.'

A gentle ripple of amusement broke out. Grissom smiled. He loved this reaction to his classes. Heard I was kinda dull, eh Miss Sidle? Well, I'll show you! Hearing that confession at a crime scene recently was all the motivation he needed to excel further in his academic work. He missed teaching. It was in his veins. The audience, the presentation of beloved facts and figures and the attention wasn't too bad either.

'Homework,' he called out, as the students started packing their belongings for lunchtime. An audible groan emitted from them. He was doing his homework to educate them, so the least they could do was reciprocate.

'Investigate the different ways in which a gas can be expelled in an attack and inhaled by a victim. I would like you to consider the practicalities of such an attack and its effects on a large city, a small town and a general village in the outskirts. Due in next week. Please don't forget…'

A rugby scrum for the door began. Chairs scraped noisily across the hardwood flooring as eager students crashed up the steps two at a time to get to the refactory. Grissom screwed his face up at the sound. Yes, he may be a good speaker, but he could never compete with a student's needs to get to the Union bar and have a cold beer and a warm, curled up sandwich before afternoon lectures began. He wasn't presenting after lunch so he began the task of deconstructing his set. He needed a little nap to refresh himself. Father Grissmas was waiting for an extra special delivery… because he had been a very good boy, after all.

He became aware of a lone figure, hanging out at the back of the auditorium.

'Dr Grissom I presume…'

Even bent double, folding a persistently difficult tripod into a carry case, he recognised the dulcet and unique tones of his observer.

'I don't even need to turn round, Sara Sidle.'

'It's me…'

Grissom looked up and grinned. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose during the tripod struggle and he looked over the lenses at her advancing frame coming down the lecture hall steps. With those long legs, two at a time was not a great effort.

'I got in early, so I thought I'd come and give you moral support. But it looks like I missed it… were you any good?'

Try as she may, she couldn't hide the look of mischief dancing in her eyes. Grissom battled hard not to be drawn in. But it was hard. God, he'd missed her. Her lithe body at night, stretching out next to him, her carefree giggle when he tickled her to get more covers back from her side of the bed, the overwhelming look of lust she gave him when she was in the mood…

'I always am…' he muttered back, closing the carry case with a flourish. He stepped down from the raised platform and engulfed her in the hugest cuddle he could manage. She closed her eyes and held on tight, just like she did when he took her on the X Scream on the top of the Stratosphere. They separated enough to look at each other before developing a kiss warm enough to melt the New England snow and ignite a passion which would need the ice to quench.

'I'm sorry I said you were kinda dull…' she said, tilting her head to one side. 'It was my first time…'

He licked his lips into a pout as he released her, going back on the platform to switch off of the room's interactive whiteboard.

'Has my performance… improved?' he intoned, innocently.

'Immeasurably… I stay awake now…'

It was too much for Grissom. He flung a bag at her and instructed her to carry it back to the car. She was chortling as she started up the steps. Grissom couldn't help but a crack a smile. He was so very lucky. Especially regarding his current view, as he watched her tight jeans clamp around her backside as she took the steps quickly and efficiently. He had to pause, taking a deep breath. He reasoned that he wasn't going to get his power nap before she arrived now. He had other ways to rejuvenate his aging body. Nicer ways… especially now she was there, with him. The nights weren't going to be as cold for the next few days.

He took her hand as they stepped out into the cold night air. The wind cut them in half as it blustered around them.

'Oh my God!' Sara gasped. 'How cold is it?'

'Not quite a balmy Vegas evening is it?' gesticulated Grissom, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the freezing winter winds.

'Thank you, by the way,' she said, releasing her hand and putting her arm around his waist, desperate for the warmth of him and the bodily contact she'd craved for so long. 'This is the perfect present. I couldn't, wouldn't, don't want anything else. The thought of being a country away from you this Christmas was… was…'

'Unthinkable. We've been apart too many already.'

Sara nodded, rubbing her face into his warm winter jacket.

'Let's put this in the car then I want to show you the lake. It's frozen over!'

'You're like a little boy on Christmas morning!'

'And I haven't opened my present yet.' The burning look he offered her thawed her out. She melted before him. 'Haven't you got a scarf? Or gloves?'

'Do latex ones count?'

'Funny, Sidle. I see our enforced separation has not improved your sense of humour. You'll need them. You'll freeze to death out here.'

Right on cue, Sara shivered.

'Come on, I've got something for you.' They reached Grissom's hire car and dumped the stuff on the back seat. He reached over and passed her a gift wrapped item. 'Well? Are you going to stare at it or open it?'

'Rudolph wrapping paper just doesn't seem you…'

'Humour me, Sara. What's wrong with it? It's cheerful! It smacks of Santa and fun!'

'Like I said, it just doesn't seem you…'

Grissom sighed. He knew where she was coming from. He had let his job get on top of him. For the first time in his entire adult life, his personal life was his priority. His working life didn't seem as important. He was able to stand back and see what was going on around him. His sole purpose on the graveyard shift was to unravel the nightmares acted out in the sinister side streets of Las Vegas, away from the relative safety of the Strip. He made his living from the loss of others. He stood back and didn't like what he saw. He noticed the destruction of lives – in death, in mourning, in criminal actions. He was amazed, finally, about the things people could do to each other.

'It was killing me, Sara. I had to do this. For me. For us.'

'I know. I'm not criticising. I want you back, Griss. The real you. This sabbatical will get you back. Bring you back to me. Smiling, I hope.' Sara looked at the package in her hands and toyed with it as they spoke.

'It will. I promise.' He dipped his head slightly to kiss her cheek. 'It's making me think about my future. I want you in it. I'm just not sure I want the Lab. Come on, I'll explain as we walk.'

He unwrapped the package in her hands and pulled out a thick, knitted woollen scarf in a rich burgundy, with matching gloves. He draped the scarf around her neck and gently knotted it under chin. He put the gloves in her pocket and wrapped himself around her. They set of towards the water.

'I watched a man, who killed for no other reason other than he could, shoot himself right in front of me, on the computer. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't force him to face justice for the families of those he murdered. All my career, I've believed in justice. That wrong doers will be punished. And in most cases they are. But society isn't. Society never learns from its mistakes. For every killer, abuser, rapist, thug or whatever, there will always be more to take their place. Someone else for us to chase. It's a job that is never ending yet all consuming. I don't know how much longer I can deal with it.'

Sara just listened. Stared ahead and listened. She squeezed him to indicate he had her full attention.

'I enjoy teaching. Moulding minds. Every so often, someone special comes along. Someone I can teach. Someone who wants to learn. Someone eager, feisty, everything…'

'I used to be?' she finished for him.

'And me, believe it or not.'

'Oh, I believe that. I bet you were the class brainiac, with your curly hair, big blue eyes and your hand up to answer every question the teacher asked!'

A smile formed on his lips. 'Something like that.' He refocused and continued. 'My priorities have changed. I don't enjoy my job. What would change if I left? Nothing. It would just be other scientists, other forensic entomologists using the latest technological breakthroughs to track criminals down. Teaching puts a positive slant on things. I can give energy and learning to new, talented CSI students who can keep the chase going. I want to live now. I want you.'

The two huddled figures came to a standstill at the lake's edge. A gull flew across the sky, landing with a slide on the icy surface, its cry shattering the fragile silence like an egg shell. Grissom stooped down, to capture a stone in his hand. He tossed it onto the iced over lake, it thudding across the frozen waters.

'_In the bleak midwinter, frosty winds made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone_.' I love looking at this lake. It looks different every day. That's what I want. My life to be different everyday. Not the same old thing day in day out – death and destruction.'

Silence consumed them.

'Sorry,' he uttered, sotto voce. 'I didn't bring you here for the festive season to give you a downer like that.'

'Don't worry, love. It's what you needed to say to me. Will you promise me one thing though?

'Of course.'

'Think about it. Don't just make any sudden snap decisions. Take your time. Take all the time you have while you are here. You know I will support you, whatever you decide to do. I just don't want you to rush to a conclusion and regret it.'

'I promise.' Grissom kissed the side of her face. 'Thank you.'

'My pleasure. Anytime. Thank you, for trusting me to tell me how you really feel.'

'I told you when we started out together, no more secrets. I need you more than you'll ever know.'

He changed tack. He filled his arms with her, pulling her close, a gentle smile forming on his face. 'Welcome to New England.'

'It's beautiful. Well worth the flight. First class is awful by the way… I'd hardly had time to finish one glass of champagne, before another was being forced on me!'

'Poor baby. I'll book luggage class for you next time. If it makes you comfortable.'

'The only thing that will make me comfortable is a hot bath with a very hot man. How can you stand it being so cold outside?' teased Sara, holding him close in love and comfort.

'You get used to it. But I never get used to you thinking I'm hot!

'Get used to it. Now, take me to bed or lose me forever…'

'Please don't tell me you've done nothing but watch 'Top Gun' in my absence.'

'Maybe,' she said, slyly, 'and 'Bridget Jones a couple of times…'

'Oh God,' he muttered, 'but, I will certainly take you to bed. I don't want to lose you… ever. At all.'

_**AN – the quote is from 'In The Bleak Midwinter,' by Christina Rossetti. The last one is obviously 'Top Gun.' Clearly not mine either! The mustard gas stuff is courtesy of internet research I did on World War One for a poetry class. I can't remember the site though. **_

**_Now, how did I do?_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you so much for reading this fic. And for your reviews. I love reading them. And for all your support saying that I got into Grissom's head well. Much appreciated. Now, more angst for our favourite CSI..._**

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**_Usual disclaimers apply._**

**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter 3**

Somewhere, in a hotel suite on the East side of Rhode Island, an alarm was ringing out. A bear- like arm thrust out from underneath the duvet and grabbed blindly at the offending item. He shook it violently. He groped at the mechanisms before rolling over.

'Sara?' He gruffly muttered as he awoke from his slumbers. 'Sara! Wake up! How do you turn this bloody thing off?! It's driving me mad!'

A bedraggled head poked out from the other side of the bed.

'Eurgghhh… wha…?' was all she could manage. Waking up was not a strength of Sara Sidle, especially after a night of steamy passion with Gil Grissom. She needed her rest. And she needed her three cups of coffee in the morning before thinking about getting operational.

'Stop it! Don't wave it near my ears! Give it 'ere!'

She roughly grabbed it from her boyfriend's hands and flicked the switch at the back, slamming it back on her side of the bed. Silence resonated around the room once more. A loud groan came from Grissom's side of the bed.

'Thank God! I thought the incessant din would never cease! Why did you buy a new alarm clock anyway? Did you actually need one? We don't have to get up for anything these next few days. It's the holidays… we can stay here all day and all night if we want to. Urgghhhh!' he exhaled in desperation. 'Bang goes my seductive breakfast in bed routine.'

'Aww. Sweet. But you know I had to get another,' she reasoned in his direction, 'you threw the last one across the bedroom. And you think I'm grumpy first thing in a morning…'

She snuggled into his side, one arm draped over the expansive chest she liked to investigate with her mouth and lips. Only Grissom, sleep devoured, with ruffled hair could appease her eyes as she roused from her slumbers. Especially when he slept in just his boxers. The things that bare - chest could do to her! She doubted any of her thoughts were actually legal at that moment. She made a mental note to hide his pyjamas next time they did their laundry.

'Well, it kept going off!'

'It's meant to! It wakes us up so you can go home before shift starts to change clothes.'

Grissom rolled over, so she was beautifully crushed between his sturdy chest and strong arms. It was her favourite place to be.

'There is no shift today!' he grumped. 'But there was something I … Mmm… About that getting up to go home thing…'

Their cosy waking up together ritual was disturbed by a mobile phone vibrating on the bedside cabinet. Grissom moaned and rubbed his nose into her shoulder.

'I can't hear it… la la la… Please don't answer it…'

'It's not my phone. Different ring tone…'

Sara loved the sensations of a muzzy Grissom cuddling up against her. All warm and teddy bear-ish. Rubbing the tip of his nose through her hair. Placing tantalisingly tiny kisses all along the way. She felt familiar stirrings south of her border… her mind flashing back to a hot night in a hotter spa bath…

With a sigh, Grissom lifted his arm from her and reached behind him to get the mobile. He looked at the caller display.

'Brass? Why is Brass ringing me?' Grissom gave the phone a hard stare of bemusement.

'He probably wants to pass on the greetings of the season or something.'

Grissom took one last look at Sara in his arms, mentally photographing it for later, to remind him where he was and what he was about to do. He flicked his thumb under the clamshell and flipped it open.

'Grissom… No, Jim, you didn't wake me… nice to hear from you actually…'

Sara smiled and pressed her face to his chest, taking in his clean, warm scent. A hand wandered over his pecs, tracing a finger over a taut nipple, making him catch his breath. He caught her hand in his. She sensed the advantage. Both his hands were now occupied. Her left hand slipped under the covers, caressing a furry thigh. He glanced at her with a rising sense of fear and alarm in his eyes. She wouldn't would she? He was finding it harder to concentrate on Brass's words…

Without the slightest hint of effort, her hand wandered into the gap at the front of his shorts…

'What?! When?!'

The jolt which ran through Grissom was not the work of Sara Sidle. She could see the seriousness in his face. Something bad had happened. Something big. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack. Every trace of humour had slipped from his features. His face narrated the conversation.

'But, Jim, I can't… I'm running seminars for another few… Jim, it's impossible. Catherine can…'

Sara looked up at him wondering what Brass was saying to him. Grissom continued to shake his head. Could it almost be fear Sara saw in his eyes?

'I'm not ready Jim. I … it's too soon.'

Sara's eyebrows knitted in confusion. Grissom reached into his bedside drawer to retrieve a pen. He snapped his fingers towards Sara to get her attention and pointed towards her cabinet, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder. She passed him her book. He scratched the pen across the detective novel Sara had given him. She watched his shaky hand write Circus Circus on the inside jacket cover. Her eyes looked up in to his. He continued writing Jim's descriptions down -

_Some sort of explosion. _

_Several dead. _

_Many injured. _

_Full nightshift required. _

_Hazmat on site._

_He wants me to go back to Vegas to head the investigation. I can't…_

Sara mouthed at him,

'Yes, you can. Say yes, Griss. Say yes.'

Grissom exhaled deeply. He closed his eyes to shut out the world. Silence descended around the room and down the phone line. Away from Vegas and the wears and tears of the job, Grissom was strong. The thoughts of leading his shift before he had finally made a decision on his future chilled him to the bone like a New England winter's morning. But what choice did he have? A no would drop his team in the middle of who knows what? Catherine could run shift, but had no idea of how to manage a major incident. A yes meant facing his demons… and he had never run away from a challenge. He opened his eyes and looked at Sara. She waited for an answer, just as Brass did, hundreds of miles away.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

He nodded.

'Ok, I'll be there, but I don't know what I can do that Catherine and the others can't. I'll arrange flights… I mean a flight, ASAP. Keep me informed, Jim.'

He closed the phone and looked up at Sara.

'This is bad, Sara. I don't know how well I can cope with this. Maybe it's even out of my league….'

Sara took his shoulders in her hands as she knelt on the bed in front of him.

'Grissom, you are the most talented CSI at our lab, if not the whole of the United States. We all trust and respect you. You have the full, undying, unquestioning loyalty of every member of our team. If anyone can deal with this and process the scene efficiently and with respect it's you. We are all there for you and will do everything you ask of us effectively and without question.'

She placed her hand on his scruffed up, fuzzy, jaw line, and stroked a thumb against his cheek in a sign of reassurance.

'You can do this, Griss. We all can. You should never have a confidence crisis about your job, even though I know you are struggling to come to terms with it. Now call the airline.'

Her eyes confirmed her words as she stared into the pools of Grissom's eyes. He nodded. Yes, with his team behind him, he could. With Sara behind him, she could always pick up the pieces. He could deal with the biggest crime scene of his career; despite the daunting realisation that he wasn't quite sure if he could or even wanted to deal with it.

Sara's phone began to ring.

'Now, I wonder who that could be?' A disgruntled Sara moaned, staring at the phone on her bedside table.

'Sidle…Hello, Brass… I'm on vacation Jim, I'm not on shift.' She cocked her head to the side to listen to the detective. 'I'm out of Nevada… it's a couple of hours drive back…'

Brass need not know she meant a couple of hours flying back.

'What? The whole shift has been called in? Why?'

As he watched Sara's excellent performance, Grissom pulled his over night bag out of the wardrobe and began throwing items in it. He needed a shower, time alone, and mentally prepare himself for the worst shift of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN – I have absolutely no issues with Circus Circus in Vegas… I promise! It's just that I stayed there in the summer and know the layout of that end of the Strip fairly well, so this part of the fic could only have been written there for me. No insults are intended._**

_**Also, many thanks for the reviews… I shocked a few people with the twist, I'm pleased to say! Hope this one grips you as well. If you'd like to leave one, a review would be welcome. They make my day!**_

_**Cheers, CSIBritfan xxx**_

_**Disclaimer – none of the characters named or places mentioned belong to me.**_

**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter 4**

The drive to the airport was silent.

The flight to the West side of the States was silent.

The drive from McCarran was silent…

Grissom stood outside of the Riviera Hotel, minutes after touching down at McCarran Airport, flanked by his graveyard crew. Las Vegas Boulevard had never been so quiet. Traffic had been re-directed, several streets away, as far back as the Stratosphere one way and The Wynn the other. Floodlights lit the scene outside Circus Circus, bright and bold but clinical. Red and blue emergency vehicle lights bounced off the surrounding casino exterior walls as Hazmat officers, in their chemical suits, busied themselves with making the area safe for the CSI's to commence what was clearly going to be a double, triple, quadruple shift. No one knew what had caused the explosion, so all precautions were being taken. What disturbed the team most was the eerie, uncharacteristic silence. Las Vegas was not a noiseless city by nature, yet now, it was as quiet as the grave.

Sara Sidle's vehicle drew up alongside the team. Her mouth was open in shock at what she saw. Despite arriving on the same flight, Sara decided it would be prudent for Grissom to drop her off at home first so she could collect her car and arrive separately. She was supposed to have been, after all, driving back to Las Vegas from somewhere, so it made sense. She collected her kit from the passenger seat and assembled on the right side of Grissom.

'It's never good to be told to wait at a Control Centre…'mused Catherine Willows, Graveyard's second in command. 'Who's running the show?'

'That would be me.'

The CSI's looked left to see the familiar, diminutive shape of LVPD Captain Jim Brass talking straight at them.

'Damn,' expressed Warrick, 'What the hell went down here?'

'Some sort of explosion in the West Tower casino. Burns and flying debris injured most of the survivors, God knows what injuries on the victims who didn't make it. I have never seen anything like it. I'm almost unwilling to let you see what's gone off in there.'

'Greg, I don't want you in there,' commented Grissom, as he saw the colour drain from the face of his youngest CSI.

'I want to play my part, Grissom.'

'And you will, but you're not experienced enough to cope with what's in there…' He trailed off. He didn't know if he could cope with it, let alone an inexperienced rookie. He was trying to protect him, not mollycoddle him.

'Grissom…'

Sara put a hand on Greg's arm and gently shook her head.

'Griss is right. Trust him,' soothed Sara, calming the anxious Grissom as well as the downright nervous Greg. The last thing Grissom wanted now was an argument.

'Go back to the lab…'

'But…'

'Go back to the lab, Greg, and back up the shift. Any other assignments which come in tonight are yours to deal with. Co-ordinate the relay of evidence and trace results and keep us in constant update. This is a major incident situation and I have to cover all bases. Can you do that, Greg? I will call Ecklie to arrange back up for you from days.'

Grissom used every ounce of managerial training to reach the compromise. He was not going to let his team down again following Nick's brush with death. It had taught him he needed to manage with compassion and support. Now he wasn't exactly fluent, but he made a determined attempt to lead, despite his own fears. His people needed him as much as he needed them.

Reluctantly, Greg nodded. Now was not the time. Grissom gave the merest nod in Greg's direct to demonstrate his gratitude.

'Catherine, I want you and Nick to go into the hotel. Retrieve any debris you can lay your hands on. Take a Hazmat guy with you. You never know what caused the explosion. Let him make the decisions as to what is safe to be transported and what is not. Greg, take the CCTV footage back with you. Ask Archie to go through the maintenance footage, see who went in, when, where and why.'

The three CSI's all went about their business. Brass looked at Grissom.

'Thanks for coming back Gil. Are you alright, buddy?'

Grissom was grey and distracted.

'Sure,' he responded unconvincingly. 'How bad is it, Jim?'

'The worst…' The grim faced detective admitted.

'What needs to be done, from our point of view? Are bodies ready to be transported back to the morgue? Is Al aware of the situation?'

'Yeah. He's going to be tapped out. I'll arrange for the day shift coroner to come in and support him. Dave will be coming and going between here and the morgue.'

'Grissom!'

The weary supervisor wheeled around on his heels to the sight of Conrad Ecklie marching across the Boulevard. He took in a deep breath and mentally prepared himself. To say they didn't get on was the world's biggest understatement. He watched the suited and booted lab director getting closer. So very gently and discreetly, Sara nudged her shoulder in to his. He understood her silent message. Keep calm. She was there for him.

'Conrad. I didn't expect to see you here.'

'Same here,' he said, motioning his eyes up and down his supervisor. 'Welcome back. It's a major scene, Gil. Where else would I be? I'm co-ordinating the media angle. I won't interfere in your work.'

Sara and Warrick caught Brass's eye. They were all thinking the same thing, all half grinning at Ecklie's prolific, if not usually strictly accurate, statement. They dare not look at Grissom, so took an interest in the scuffs on their shoes instead.

'Any dealings with the press – print based or TV news – goes through me. I'll need regular updates from you so I can disseminate information and do the interviews. I know how you hate the limelight, Gil, so leave it to me.'

'Why, thank you, Conrad. I don't know how we'd ever function without your input…'

The words hung around in the air like a bad smell. Ecklie could sense a little vitriol in the statement, but couldn't quite work out what or where it was. He let it go.

'Glad we're at an understanding. Carry on…' and with that, he was gone, crossing back to the media circus congregated outside the Stardust Casino.

'Well, glad we got that one cleared up,' dead panned Brass, 'maybe we can actually get on and do something useful now he's gone.'

'Warrick, go with Jim and start trying to make ID's on the victims. Take care until we know what we are dealing with. How many are there, Jim?

'Thirty confirmed dead, at the moment. Several more injured… in the many tens I think. The EMT crews are working on them.'

'Lead the way, Brass.' Warrick picked up his kit and followed the detective, leaving Grissom standing with Sara outside the Riviera.

'I'm just thinking how ironic it is that yesterday I was teaching about the effects of explosions and now, this.'

'Well, that's what coincidences are… coincidental.'

'Mmm. I suppose.'

'What do you want me to do, Griss?'

'Stay near me. If this is some kind of terrorist attack, I want to know you're safe.'

Sara looked into her partner's troubled eyes. He was genuinely worried. She silently nodded her acceptance of his terms. He needed reassurance and she needed him.

'You are going to be fine, Griss. Then we can go back to New England for Christmas in the Jacuzzi. I promise.'

How Grissom wished it was a promise they could keep.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Whoa! Thank you for some cracking reviews! I'm proper chuffed! So, I finished chapter 5 just for you all, this Christmas Eve. I'm just like Santa aren't I?! ;-) Except I'm from Yorkshire, rather than Lapland... and dark haired without a beard... in a certain light... :-)_**

**_Now, 'make my dreams come true... all I want for Christmas is re-viewwwwwws!' (I can also sing! lol!) Sorry. hangs head in shame_**

**_Disclaimer - Not mine. I wonder if I'll get a gift wrapped Grissom under my tree tomorrow? Oh! Can you just IMAGINE?!_**

**Merry Grissmas **

**Chapter 5**

Knees bent, latex fingers sifting, Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle rummaged in rubble, looking for the faintest hint of a clue to bring justice for the families of the deceased and the dying. The West Tower of Circus Circus was supported and safe, finally, after hours of standing around. They were half way into their double shift. Hazmat had cleared the scene, no chemical agents present, just dust, filth and debris. Both were kitted out in overalls and face masks.

'It looks like it started here,' surmised Sara, pointing to a blast pattern which encompassed the wall and floor. She traced the outline of it for Grissom, with the beam of her torch, to demonstrate her findings.

'Take samples and send to Greg and Hodges in trace, ASAP. The sooner we know the explosive matter the sooner we can close this and the sooner we can get back to Williamstown.'

Sara looked at him. Was he suggesting running away?

'Griss, I…'

'You know how I feel, Sara. This isn't going to change it. I don't know if I can or want to carry on with this. I need to go back and distance myself from this to make my decision. This is exactly what I meant, right here. Someone woke up this morning hell bent on chaos, and here we are clearing it up. Why do you want to do this anymore? You could do your doctorate and teach. You know I'd support you – pay for it. We could travel around the country… go overseas even…' Grissom smiled for the first time since waking alongside her that morning.

'I'm not ready for that yet,' she murmured. 'In a few years time, when we have sat down and planned our future, who knows, but here, at the moment, this is the first time I have ever belonged. Do you understand what I mean?' she said, scraping soot into an envelope, writing her initials and location on it before sealing it and placing it in her kit. 'I have a family, as dysfunctional as it is, but it's better than anything I've ever had before. I love Nicky and Greg, Warrick and Catherine. Brass too. I'm not ready to leave them behind just yet.'

Grissom nodded. 'I understand you. We are just at different stages of life and we have to be compatible.'

'I've got a foot print…' Sara tailed off, 'it's burned onto the cement so it must have been there before the fire took hold…'

'An accelerant?'

'Dunno,' Sara replied, snapping away with her camera, marking its size and pattern for documented evidence. 'I'll run the tread through Solemate, see what it throws out.'

'Is this blood?' questioned Grissom, flashing his torch light up and over the suspect area.

'There will be blood everywhere. Look how many were killed or injured.'

'But next to the source of the explosion? Could be the perp's.'

Sara nodded her agreement.

Grissom took a swab and labelled it.

'Would a global terror network leave blood and explosive evidence at a scene?' asked a confused Sara. 'This all looks quite amateurish.'

'Just follow the evidence, Sara, it will take us to the right conclusion.'

'Now that sounds like the Grissom we all know and love,' she winked. He tried a little smile of acknowledgement.

His phone began vibrating on his pocket. Unclipping it, he answered,

'Grissom.'

He stood stock still, listening to the information being downloaded to him. He nodded.

'Ok, Brass, good. Thank you. I'll inform Sara.'

He flipped his mobile closed and faced his fellow CSI.

'Brass has an ID on a suspect. It looks like you were right. John Fisher. Lost his house to the House three nights ago. His business, his wife, all gone too. He was captured on camera carrying a briefcase, thirty minutes before the explosion. The Pit Manager picked him out on the tape at PD after Archie worked on it a little. Now if we can find any remnants of a briefcase…' He twisted his torso left and right, scanning the area immediately around him.

'Let's get this back to Greg at the lab, see if he can weave a little magic.'

'Phone Greg. Get him down here. He can help us re-construct the blast. Hodges and Mandy can do the lab work. Sign over the chain of custody for the evidence to Nicky. He can get it back to the lab.'

Sara smiled. An enthusiasm for teaching, eh? She started to rise from her crouched position, reaching in her pocket for her mobile.

Within the hour, Greg Sanders appeared, loaded down with boxes and creates for evidence collection.

'Welcome Greg. Now it is your time to help. I want you to search the immediate area for a metallic brief case. Any pieces you find, log it, photograph it and number it. Then we will get an indication of how much explosive was used. Do you understand?'

'Sure Grissom, I'm a quick learner.'

'That's why you are here. Now go. Sara will help you this side, while I start at the other.'

They worked in amicable silence, as the remains of the floor at Circus Circus soon resembled a firework display. Patterns of red, yellow, blue and green plastic evidence markers scattered around them to identify different trace elements of the briefcase. Grissom stood back to observe their work. He took a measuring wheel to distance the circumference, radius and diameter of the explosion. Making notes as he did so, Greg and Sara watched him.

'I thought you were the master, Oh Great One,' Greg teased Sara, 'but just look at him go. He's very thorough and into detail isn't he?'

Sara couldn't suppress a smirk, 'Oh, he's that alright!' she whispered, her eyes blazing as she watched him.

'Ok, you two, this needs collecting up and recreating in the lab. Sara, you collect the red, Greg, the blue and I'll do the yellow.'

A third shift ended as the weary graveyarders rumbled up to the Lab with their evidence. Grissom dispatched Warrick and Catherine to analyse and print the brief case, as he collapsed into his office chair. He reflected on the day's events. Everyone had pulled together, despite his reticence to return to Las Vegas. He took his glasses off his nose and rubbed the bridge, straining to focus his eyes on the paper documentation in front of him. He picked up his pen, but paused. A realisation hit him like a nuclear missile. This was what he hated, not the ground work, not the working with the team. This. Filling in stupid pieces of paper for stupid lab directors to give it a cursory glance before throwing it in a filing cabinet until it was boxed up in Closed Evidence. At least they had a lead on a suspect.

A knock roused him from his thoughts. Brass silhouetted in the doorway.

'We got him in for questioning, John Fisher.'

'Good.'

'It looked so good.'

Grissom turned his head sideways, as if to check his hearing.'

'Looked?'

'The blood you found, and the shoe print…'

'What about them? They were brought in for analysis hours ago. Hodges can't be that backed up.'

'Oh, we got the results.'

'So? Did the blood and shoe pattern match the suspect's?

'No. Not even close. Not even male.'

Grissom's jaw hit the desk. His lovely hotel suite, with his lovely girlfriend over for a lovely Christmas, disappeared down the corridor and his despair blew up in his face.

'Square one?'

'Square one.' Brass nodded.

**_Let me know what you think!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Thank you so much for the fantastic reviews this story has received. I really appreciate you taking time to read and review. It does genuinely mean a lot. Thanks again. _**

****

**_Here we go, the penultimate chapter. Has Griss taught his team everything he knows?_**

**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter 6**

'We got a print!' Catherine Willows yelled from her place in the layout room.

Brass and Grissom looked up at each other and raced out of Grissom's office towards her.

'I've just inserted it into the AFIS database,' muttered a very relaxed Warrick Brown. He knew not to get excited until the results came in.

Grissom watched him. He'd taught him well. Wait for the evidence. It never lies.

'Grissom! Come look at this!'

He headed out of the doorway, calling behind him, 'Update me on that print.' He bowled into the AV lab, standing behind Nick Stokes and Archie.

'John Fisher wasn't the only one to enter the Casino with a brief case. Look, fifteen minutes before the explosion.'

Grissom and the boys watched the flickering footage on the big screen in the darkened lab. Sara joined him, followed by Brass. They flanked Grissom.

'There!'

Grissom scowled in concentration. A woman, with a metallic brief case lowered her head at the sight of the surveillance cameras. She headed towards the left of shot.

'Can we follow her?' asked Grissom.

'Yep,' countered Archie. With open mouth and eager soul, all the CSI's watched her place the case under a black jack table, then walk away.

Grissom looked at Nick and Archie. They were both very thorough and went the extra mile to conclude a case. They didn't have the right suspect so they worked it some more until they got a break. He recognised himself in them. He gave a smirk of pride. They'd spent hours watching video tape, their eyes red and raw, but neither were satisfied until they'd found a solution. It's the small details which break the case.

'Good work, guys. Nicely done.' He placed a fatherly hand on their shoulders. Nick and Archie smiled at each other. Praise indeed from their leader.

It did not go unnoticed by Sara either. As they turned to leave, she gave him a tiny wink, which he reciprocated.

'We got a hit!'

The CSI's followed Grissom back to Catherine and Warrick.

'No way!' retorted his deputy, 'I never saw that coming!'

All their faces turned to the computer monitor.

'Sophie Fisher, physics graduate and activist…cautioned for making explosives materials in the 1990's…'

'And angry, homeless spouse,' finished a grinning Catherine Willows, 'and there is no anger like a woman scorned.'

'I'm on it,' cried Brass, dashing through the lab, beckoning four uniformed officers to follow him.

'Now that's team work,' beamed Greg Sanders, wiping his hands on his overalls.

'It's not over yet, not without a confession. Let's keep our feet on the ground until Brass does his bit.'

Mandy joined them in the layout room.

'DNA results. Matches a Sophie Fisher.'

'Oh yeah!' whooped Warrick, 'that'll help our cause.'

'Only if she has a fresh blood injury. Let's just wait and see.' Grissom didn't want them all disappointed again.

Within the hour, Catherine, Grissom, Sara and Greg were crammed in the observation room overlooking Interview Room Two in LVPD. Brass was one side of a black desk with Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown in the interview alongside him. They were sitting across from a bedraggled Sophie Fisher. She'd tried to run… she'd been caught. Guilty as sin, thought Jim Brass as he hauled her sorry ass through the building on their arrival.

'You ran. You did it,' snarled Brass at the woman sitting, head bowed, in front of him. 'It's the way it works. Now, all we need is the details.'

'If you know I did it, why do you need me to say I did it?' Questioned the fiery eyed red head.

'I like my cases like my Christmas presents - nicely gift wrapped for the judge,' he spat back.

'We have enough forensic evidence to charge you,' chipped in Nick.

'Such as…?'

Nick opened the forensic report file in front of him. He slid a freeze frame from the CCTV over the table top.

'That's you, fifteen minutes before the explosion at Circus Circus, yesterday.'

'So?'

'This is you putting a metallic suitcase under a blackjack table, a few moments later,' he patiently continued.

She stared silently at the images in front of her.

'And this is you catching your hand on the corner of the table.'

Sophie Fisher gave him a confused and baffled look.

'What?'

'This is where you caught your hand on the corner of the table,' he repeated slowly, his square jaw setting and his eyebrows descending into a fixed glare. He hated time wasters.

'Let me explain. When we go somewhere or do something, we leave a little bit of ourselves behind. Skin cells, a single hair or DNA.'

'Oh, yeah,' added Brass, warming to the interrogation, 'DNA. DNA is good.'

Nick didn't skip a beat.

'And when someone says, cuts themselves on a corner of a table, blood is left behind. Especially if you shake your hand to get rid of the pain. Tiny little droplets of blood fall and attach themselves to, say, walls or skirting boards…'

'Then the best CSI in the lab comes along, and finds it. A miniscule little drop, barely visible to the naked eye. But he knows what he's looking for, so he finds it,' Brass added, giving a cursory glance up to the two way mirror.

Behind it, Grissom stood fixed, his eyes never leaving the interview. He was watching his protégées working effectively – his way. But he was totally aware of three pairs of eyes burning into him in the obs room. He sensed Catherine and Greg grinning and felt Sara – gently stroking his back, making it look like a pat, but making it feel so much more.

'Look, where's this going?' the ever increasingly stressed Sophie insinuated.

'I have one more thing to show you.' Nick passed over a final shot. It was a brilliant, blinding light. 'This is the same camera we caught you on, just as the bomb in your briefcase exploded, killing thirty innocent people in that casino.'

Sophie broke down in a rant of venom and anger.

'Innocent?! How can you call these peddlers of poverty innocent?! They steal money, they steal lives… my husband, my house, my life…!'

Brass held out a hand to silence the CSI's. He got up and strode around to Sophie's side of the table. Bending forward, speaking gently and directly into her ear, Brass explained,

'They worked there for a living. They have families, homes, partners to maintain. They can't do that any more. You killed them. Many were there on holiday to have fun with family and friends, saving up years and months to have a special Christmas period in Las Vegas… living the dream – only to die at your hands in the pit of despair known as Sin City. Because of your greed. You stole their lives.'

'Show me your hands,' grunted a steely eyed Warrick.

'Pardon?'

Brass roughly grabbed her hands from her lap and slammed them on the table.

'He said, HANDS!'

Fisher whimpered as the backs of her knuckles cracked on the hard surface.

'Turn them,' commanded the captain.

Trembling, she turned them over slowly. Every CSI in the building held their breath collectively.

'Now that's what I call a full house.' Smiled Brass, as he, Warrick and Nick saw the gouged skin on her knuckle from its impact with the blackjack table. He looked up to the one way mirror and gave a small nod in the direction of Grissom.

Warrick completed the formalities.

'Now when I swab that cut for your DNA and we match it to the DNA from the casino… which we will… that will be your life gone too.'

'Wait a minute! We can work something out here! Deal?' she blubbered, begging for a second chance.

'No deal.'

And with that, Brass lifted her from her chair in the room and passed her over to a female uniformed officer. As she left the law enforcement officers behind, Brass gave a thumbs up to the observation room.

'Now that's a Merry Christmas… God Bless us, every one.'

There was a lot of celebration in the break room that night. Despite nearly 36 hours of continuous hard work, the CSI's were in a position, finally on Christmas Day, to smile. Except one.

Grissom was missing. He was alone. In his office. Pondering.

It was clear to him. He was no longer their mentor in the crime lab. They were all equals. He clearly had nothing more to teach them. With more experience of major incidents, Cath would make a strong leader. Nick and Warrick were cool and controlled, processing evidence, suspects and victims without emotion. Greg was totally under the wing of his mentor, which left her, Sara. She needed Grissom and he needed her. He couldn't have returned to Vegas to lead this investigation without her. She was his rock, his mentor, his guardian. She was teaching him new and exciting things and he was getting stronger, bolder and braver every day. He wouldn't be missed, but she would be. For the first time in his adult life, he had to think through the heart and soul of someone else. What would Sara do in his position? What would she like him to do?

A gentle knock on the door frame alerted him to company.

'Penny for them?'

He smiled. He was tired. He wanted to sleep, preferably in her arms.

Knowing the door was open, he asked her,

'When do you leave for your vacation again?'

'I can leave whenever. I'm driving remember?' she winked at him.

'My credit card has been hit hard and goodwill on the airlines is non-existent this festive season. They have never been as Scrooge-like, but I have transport back to New England in a few hours.'

'Ok, well I'll drive back to my apartment and pick up a few things. Would you like a lift to the airport?' Her eyebrow quirked with the question.

'Sara, that's very generous of you.' He teased. 'Thank you. If you have nothing else to do…'


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN – Well, here it is, the last chapter. I've really enjoyed writing this and I'm chuffed you've enjoyed reading it. Many thank yous for taking the time out to do so. Another little review at the end of this chapter would be very nice too – to round of the story… and the year!**_

_**Happy New Year 2007! I hope it is happy and prosperous for you all!**_

_**CSI Britfan xxx**_

**Merry Grissmas**

**Chapter 7**

'Better late than never,' Grissom stated, as he popped the cork from a chilled bottle of champagne. He carefully poured himself a glass. A second flute was thrust under his nose.

'Now, now. All good things come to those who wait,' he chided, letting the golden bubbles fill her glass in one, smooth action. 'To us,' he toasted, as they clinked their flutes together. 'Merry Christmas.'

The flames around them danced as the candles flickered across the two reclining Crime Scene Investigators.

Sara suddenly snorted a giggle.

'Urgh!' she laughed, 'the bubbles are coming down my nose!'

'That's the reason I love you,' grinned Grissom, 'I can take you anywhere, you are SO classy!'

'You made me laugh.'

'Me? How?'

'For years in the lab, every Christmas, Greg and I used to watch you grump about. As you slammed the office door, we used to utter 'Merry Grissmas, Grinch.' You just reminded me of it, that's all.'

Grissom stared levelly at her.

'You made fun of me?' he intoned.

Sara didn't see him laughing.

'Well, I … er…'

He couldn't keep up the pretence. With one swift swipe of his hand, he sent a tsunami of the bath water they were lying in, over Sara, quenching the candles behind her, the tiles around her and the glass of champagne she was swilling. She spluttered a little and coughed out a little then glared forcefully at him.

'Why you little…' Her sentence was incomplete as she pulled on his calves and dragged Grissom under the pulsating bubbles of the Jacuzzi bath they shared. He splashed and flailed about, throwing the contents of his champagne glass over the side as he struggled to regain his seating. He emerged from the boiling depths looking more like a drowned rat than a Greek God of the sea. Both were giggling as he knelt and leaned forward into the cradle of Sara's legs, kissing her with a passion she had forgotten he possessed.

The water wasn't all that was heated in those next few hours….

As they towelled off and lay together on their king size bed, Sara had to ask.

'How did it feel to be back at the lab?'

Grissom took a big breath before forming the answer in his mind.

'Not as bad as I had imagined it to be. It was good to see the guys again, it was nice to see you interact with them. You love them and they love you. Of that I have no doubt. I watched you all. Warrick and Nick have developed into fine CSI's. They were brilliant in the interview room. They worked the evidence, they followed the rules I instilled in them about the evidence. Greg and you were a crack team – working in the casino, supporting and encouraging each other. You would make a great teacher.'

Sara blushed in his embrace. 'I was taught by the best.'

It was his turn to blush.

'The words Brass said in the interview were wonderful, almost moving. I couldn't look at any of you in the observation room. I am good at my job. I don't like paper work. I have a strong and loyal team, of that there is no doubt. It was superb how we all pulled together to catch her. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know I can't ask you to leave Las Vegas. You fit there.'

'Have you made any decisions?'

'Just one.' He diligently kissed her with love, passion and a certain amount of arousal.

'Which is?' she asked, after being kissed senseless.

'Where ever you are, what ever you are doing, I'll be there. Because, _I'm_ not ready to say goodbye. Merry Grissmas Sara…'

It was going to be far from a Silent Night as she wrapped arms, legs, body and soul around Gil Grissom, this cold and wintry New England Christmas Night.


End file.
